The Fallen
by J-chan the Maniacal
Summary: "In an unbidden show of emotion that at last betrayed him, Dragonetti felt the blood rise in his cheeks as he glared at the boy. What was worse? Knowing that Frost was correct? or sensing the same type of hateful lust radiating from the young man's every pore?" Dragonetti x Frost, slashy one-shot.


Sooo... I notice that it's difficult to find Dragonetti and Frost pairings. Or at least I've had trouble locating anything of a smutty nature. I dunno, I could just be cursed like that.

To business! I find myself drawn to Dragonetti. It could just be that Udo Kier is incredibly sexy. (If anyone doubts me, I demand that they look up the movies "Blood for Dracula" and "Flesh for Frankenstein", because he was STUNNINGLY gorgeous in both of them. They're campy and ridiculous, but DAMN. *fangirl whimper*) And then there's Frost, who is, of course, stupidly hot (and who should be smacked for being evil, but, again, DAMN). And then there's the lust/hate chemistry between Dragonetti and Frost, which is just plain delightful. So I decided to play with them as a pairing. Mwahahahaha... *rubs hands together like a melodramatic villain*

WARNINGS: Man-sex. Strong language. Vampire bitey-ness. As well there should be.

Note: On the subtitles, Frost calls Dragonetti "Gitano", but in the script on the DVD features, his name's listed as "Gaetano". I'm erring on the "Gaetano" side here, just because I think it looks cooler.

Disclaimers: If I owned Blade, would I be posting randomly-inspired smutty fanfics here? I think not. Also, if I owned Blade, Tim Guinea would have gotten more screen time, Wesley Snipes might have been made to do the whole movie without a shirt on EVER (though the jacket can stay, because long jackets are sexy), and Quinn might have ended up with his own spin-off, because for some reason I became smitten with Donal Logue. It's probably a very good thing that I DON'T own Blade, is what I'm getting at. I make no money from doing this, nor would I want to. I do accept random internet hugs, however. Because hugs are always nice. To the story! *sallies forth*

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As Dragonetti stepped out of the car, he wondered for the hundredth time why he was coming here. The neon glyph above the door set into the alleyway's dilapidated wall flickered, casting it's red glow across the wet pavement, beckoning the young and foolish. After ordering the driver to stay put, he adjusted the collar of his coat and turned, crossing the side street. The doorman, a physically impressive animal, if lacking in intellect, bade him enter upon hearing the elder's name.

Once inside, disdain creased his brow. The club's decor had a sort of industrial decay theme; grafitti-choked walls were lined with video screens, the high ceiling was painted to resemble a hazy nighttime sky, cracks in the concrete floor were painted red to resemble veins in a stylized circulatory system. A smoke machine somewhere above the dj's booth produced a thin layer of smog which reflected the dim lighting of the room and gave everything a cold, impersonal glow. Here and there, to be glimpsed between the rhythmic movements of the dancing throng, were dotted gleaming metal tables, humans bound to them with thick leather straps. Tubes led from veins and arteries, siphoning the blood into collection tanks suspended above each table. He watched as a young woman reached up to a spigot in the side of the tank and filled her glass. Idiots. Did they not realize that if the outside world caught even the smallest glance of such scenes, they might have a full-scale witch hunt on their hands?

He was about to turn and leave, disgusted, when he caught sight of the proprietor standing halfway up the stairwell that led to his office, watching the elder with icy blue eyes. Crossing the length of the dancefloor in fluid strides, he soon stood on the steps below the boy. "Frost," he said coolly, meeting his gaze.

"Nice of you to drop in, Gaetano," Frost replied, his smirk showing that ever-present defiance. "What do you think of _The Fallen_? Just opened it up about two weeks back, and we're already packed." He gestured to the writhing mass of vampires below. "Not bad, huh?"

"I would give you my honest opinion, but I doubt that you really want to hear it." Dragonetti shot him a dark look.

Frost just smiled. "Something you haven't figured out yet, Gaetano, is that I _always_ care what you have to say." The hint of sarcasm was enough to elicit a slight annoyed twitch from the corner of the elder's mouth which seemed to amuse the younger vampire. Frost laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come on up. You look like you could use a drink."

This room's decor was of a decidedly less decrepit tone. The walls were black marble, polished to an almost mirror-shine, with a plush white carpet covering the floor. A minibar sat at the back of the room, it's refrigerator kept stocked with fresh blood. Frost retrieved a glass for his guest and one for himself, motioning for Dragonetti to sit on a black leather couch beside a pair of large tinted windows overlooking the interior of the club.

"So, what brings you out of your tomb?" Frost asked lightly, handing Dragonetti his glass and sitting in the chair opposite him. "I didn't think you'd ever set foot in one of my little establishments." He did not miss the split-second of hesitation before the elder answered.

"Curiousity." Dragonetti sipped from his glass. When his host didn't respond with his usual sneer, the elder continued, "So many of our kind flock to these deathtraps, I thought I should at least see what all the fuss is about."

Frost leaned back in his seat, spreading his arms across the back of his chair casually. "I see... And what do you think, now that you've seen it?" His icy blue gaze would have been enough to bore through steel.

As it was, the older vampire merely shifted slightly, betraying only the vaguest hint of his discomfort. "I think that you are a bigger fool than I initially believed possible. Even for one so young as you, it must be obvious how dangerous this place is. If even a single human escapes from here, it could bring down everything that we've worked to maintain all these years. You're not all-powerful, Frost. None of us is untouchable."

The ease with which Deacon Frost could dismiss such criticism was enviable at times. He let that infuriatingly serene grin of his say what he would not: He couldn't care less what ramifications might exist outside of their sphere of influence. The world could fall on the boy's head and he would merely pick himself up and leave the rest of them to pick up the pieces. He drained his glass, never once taking his eyes off of the elder. "You're absolutely right, of course," he said with a nod. "None of _you_ are untouchable."

"Damn it, Frost, you're not God!" Dragonetti snapped, rising and throwing his glass at the young man's feet. Frost didn't so much as flinch as it shattered. He was positively glacial, always. It was doubly maddening that no matter how he tried, he could never seem to get a proper rise out of the upstart. The elder, on the other hand, almost always ended up wanting to scream whenever they met like this. He glared down at Frost, hating the smug bastard with every fibre of his being.

"Just because the vermin-" he swept a hand towards the windows to indicate the club patrons, "- flock to you like you're the messiah, it doesn't justify you having these delusions that you are somehow better than the rest of us! You're a stubborn child!"

Without warning, Frost was out of his chair, his face less than an inch away from the elder's. "And you're an old dog who's lost his bite," he hissed. "But that isn't why you're here, is it, Gaetano?" He smiled viciously. "_Is it?_" he persisted.

Dragonetti held his ground, a snarl lifting the corner of his lip. "I don't need to explain myself to you." Perhaps he had made a mistake in coming here after all. Just as he was about to head for the door, Frost's hand gripped his wrist painfully tight.

"You can't just come out and say it, can you? You _want _me."

In an unbidden show of emotion that at last betrayed him, Dragonetti felt the blood rise in his cheeks as he glared at the boy. What was worse? Knowing that Frost was correct? or sensing the same type of hateful lust radiating from the young man's every pore?

Words could never do them justice. They would only bring venom to their lips, poisoning the air between them. Let there be blessed silence then. Gaetano threw the boy against the wall, slamming their bodies together with animalistic force. He snarled as Frost laughed in triumph, hating and loving him. The pureblood vampire tore at his collar, ripping the cloth away to expose his neck. He bit into the pale flesh, wanting only to hear the upstart scream, moan, whine- anything but speak. Let hands and teeth and hips do the conversing. Let messy climaxes and sweat and spilt blood act as the punctuation marks to their exchange.

Dragonetti felt a hand fist in his hair. He let the other man drag him up from the wound he had made. Deacon's mouth found his own, the fledgling conqueror forcing his lips apart to lap at the blood not yet swallowed. The elder groaned as pain lanced through his tongue. The boy gave as good as he got. When Frost at last pulled away, he licked his lips clean.

"Fuck me." Frost was ablaze with need. A demon of cold fire. He tangled his limbs around the other vampire and hissed into his ear, "Tear me apart." He gave a feral smile as the older man ripped at his pants, tearing the zipper open, forcing them down. "I want it to hurt, Gaetano. Make me bleed. Bury yourself inside me and give me the pain I deserve." He wrapped his legs around Dragonetti's hips, rubbing his throbbing length against the man's groin, eliciting a sharp moan.

Deacon grit his teeth as the elder entered him without making the slightest attempt to prepare him. He ground himself against his enemy and spur-of-the-moment lover. The friction bordered on unbearably satisfying. Frost swore loudly as Dragonetti pulled out nearly completely only to slam back inside with a harshness that would have crippled a human. He felt warmth between them and knew that he was bleeding. The scent of it only spurred them towards a harder rhythm.

The elder offered his throat. Frost accept it greedily, sinking his fangs deep. He hummed into the wounds as another pelvis-shattering thrust bucked into him, followed by another, and another. Precum wept freely from the head of his member, and he shivered as Gaetano's hand closed around the organ, fingers slicking the fluid along his shaft. Dragonetti's ministrations underscored each thrust, forcing him closer to release.

Frost threw his head back at last, spasming around the other vampire as he felt Gaetano spilling into him. He noted vaguely that Dragonetti, ever the proper nobleman, was tilting his sputtering cock towards his own chest, preserving his still-intact clothing. If the younger man wasn't so busy enjoying the orgasm, he might have tried to rub some of it off on the elder's pristine shirt just to be the bigger asshole.

Dragonetti pulled out of him unceremoniously and shoved away from the boy, letting him slide gracelessly to the floor. The pureblood tucked himself neatly back into his pants and smoothed his clothing back into a semblance of order. He ran a hand through his hair to tame it. The look he gave Frost revealed more than he would have liked to admit.

Deacon sprawled out on the carpet, looking an utter mess next to his guest. His smile could have belonged on the face of a fallen angel, for all its joyful cruelty.

"Thanks for the memories, Gaetano."

He cackled wildly as the elder shot him a disgusted look and stormed out of the office. Frost didn't need to watch him leave to know what he would do. He pictured every rueful second of Gaetano's next few hours while savoring the bittersweet taste of the man lingering in his mouth.

Dragonetti stormed out of _The Fallen_, wishing to LaMagra that the miserable little fuck had never been spawned. That, however futile the prayer might be, he had never burrowed his way into the elder's head. He climbed into the car and commanded the driver to take him anywhere but that dirty little alleyway.

x-x-x-x

Feel free to review, if you've a mind to. Or you could just join me in staring slack-jawed at the vampires. Hey, whatever floats your boat. *stares intently at Dragonetti... who arches an eyebrow at her and scoots away awkwardly*


End file.
